


After the Storm

by angel_scum



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Broken Bones, Captive Merlin, Dark Arthur, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Feeding, Graphic Description, M/M, Major Character Injury, Rape, Really dark, Storms, be warned, disabled merlin, forced cuddling, non-con, really really dark fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_scum/pseuds/angel_scum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is a wanderer, in a post-apocalyptic world, who got separated from his people in a particularly nasty storm. Arthur is a loner who finds him. Arthur brings him home, patches him up, and holds him captive there, feeding him and caring for him, until his caring goes too far. </p>
<p>WARNING: this is extremely graphic. Read at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter is the extremely graphic one. Again, though, read at your own risk.

The storm was breathtaking.

Horrifying, a mass of clouds and dust and wind and rain and hail – unfathomable in the times before The War – it swept straight towards the caravan of rusty cars and boarded up RVs.

Merlin had been out scavenging with Will and Gwaine, digging through the underbrush at the side of what had once been a major highway, when it hit.

It had been like a punch to the chest – that first sweep of wind. It was spontaneous, dangerous and unbelievably powerful. Before he knew what was happening, Merlin was being flung into the forest, the trees around him – much heavier than him – were felled, crashing with each crack of sturdy wood and groan of breaking limbs.

A smaller maple, probably only two feet around, crackled and swayed, even as Merlin tried to right himself, attempting to breathe through the pain radiating from his chest and lungs and abdomen, falling straight onto his leg.

Merlin howled then, all thoughts of running back to his druid caravan – his people – thrust from his mind. There was a crack of a wholly different kind that resounded through not the air, but Merlin himself.

He sobbed, then, passing out even as the storm grew in strength.

 ---

The next time Merlin woke, he faintly wondered if he was dead. Gone. Away in a better place, or maybe transferred back to a better time – a time that the elders of the clan would whisper about, when food didn’t come in scavenged cans and from hunting and searching, and when all the buildings were lived in, cared for.

It was the bed he was on that did it.

Merlin didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to – didn’t want the illusion of comfort and a warm bed and lilac scented sheets rubbing against his bare skin to leave.

It was glorious. Faintly, though, through his soggy brain, red flags were going up, alarms going off. Because this wasn’t heaven, and this wasn’t a hallucination.

Because there was pain. It radiated, though muffled, shooting up from his right leg, stabbing with every breath he took, faintly pulsing across the right side of his face, despite the bandages.

Merlin’s eyes shot open.

It wasn’t a dream. None of it was.

Merlin was in a bed, tucked in tightly. The linens were real, as was the scent of lilac and fresh air – drifting in from the window to his right.

Panicking, Merlin shot up in bed, immediately crying out with the pain that shot through his chest, his stomach. A sob broke past his lips and Merlin slid to the side, trying to curl into the fetal position and panicking even further when he realized that he was naked – stark naked – under the sheets.

Panic overwhelmed him for a moment, making Merlin’s breathing nearly stop, his vision narrowing down.

The door on the other side of the room opened.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Merlin gasped a bit, looking up through the tears threatening his vision to see a blond man, dressed not like a drifter and certainly not like a druid but like a – a man from Before?

It was eerie, terrifying even, and Merlin faintly wondered again if he had actually died. It was probably this shock that left Merlin immobile long enough for the man to cross the room and pull him into an embrace.

“Shush, you’re safe now,” the stranger murmured, tucking Merlin into his chest carefully, mindful of his bruised face and broken hand. It was when he began to stroke the druid’s unruly (recently washed) locks aside that Merlin seemed to unfreeze.

“Off – get off of me –“ He gasped out, trying to shove some distance between him and the man holding onto him.

The stranger wasn’t having any of that, though. His arms immediately became a cage around Merlin. Even as Merlin began to beat a fist at the stranger’s chest, the man grabbed his hand, squeezing tight, and forcing Merlin to still and take his unwanted comfort.

“Let me go,” Merlin hissed, his voice cracking. The stranger ignored the command, instead murmuring incoherent words of comfort.

That was how Merlin first met Arthur.

***

Arthur was a man from a different time. He had come across Merlin, on the verge of death, and had carried the druid’s mangled body back to his haven in the woods.

It was a rather small farmhouse, with two stories and lots of vacant land surrounding it. What went beyond the fields and the trees visible from Merlin’s window, though, the druid could only guess.

After all, with a broken leg, he could scarcely venture out to explore.

Though even with a mended body, Merlin doubted Arthur would let him out to explore.

Because Arthur, also, was a tyrant.

That was the only word that Merlin could think to use to describe the man who now lorded over him.

The way Arthur put it, he had found Merlin, he had brought him from the brink of death. And now?  Now Merlin was _his_.

Of course Merlin did not agree with this. He fought and yelled and argued and screamed, even trying to make a run for the door every time Arthur left the room. But it was hopeless. Half the time Arthur merely overpowered Merlin, holding him down until his tantrum ceased, half the time Arthur merely shrugged, citing the day Merlin would appreciate his hospitality, and lock the door.

Merlin would break down crying then.

Because suddenly he had become a prisoner, a prize.

And Arthur didn’t seem too keen on relinquishing him.

\---

It started with the cuddling.

Arthur would often force Merlin to eat – pushing past the druid’s silent protest and shoving food into his mouth until he would swallow. Sometimes Merlin would throw out weak arms and claw at Arthur, knocking aside his hand and plates and shattering glasses.

Arthur would hit him, then, slapping Merlin into submission, bruising his face and splitting open his already broken lip. Newly cowed, Merlin would eat, obediently, under Arthur’s watchful gaze.

It was after such episodes, when Merlin had swallowed his last mouthful of food, shakily bringing a careful hand up to brush at the silent tears streaking his newly marred cheeks, that Arthur would look at him with that Look.

“Move over.”

Merlin sucked in a breath, carefully keeping his eyes away from his captor, holding himself as still as possible, wishing for nothing more than to sink into the mattress that had become his jail.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, walking to the edge of the bed, having deposited the dirty dishes on the dresser near the door. “Don’t make me move you.”

Merlin looked up then, defeat and fear strong on his face, before finally nodding and carefully scooting his body to the side.

Arthur lifted the covers, kicking off his shoes and getting comfortable on the bed. Then, he turned to Merlin, a somewhat regretful look on his face.

“Come here,” he said softer, already reaching out to pull Merlin into an embrace.

Merlin didn’t fight, he rarely did at this point after an episode, because he had found that no matter how badly he was hurt, Arthur nevertheless wouldn’t think twice about raising his fist to get what he wanted.

Arthur would cuddle him, then, murmuring sweet nothings about how Merlin just needed to listen to him, to let Arthur take care of him, and none of this would’ve happened if only he had _obeyed_.

Merlin would stay stiff, unresponsive, held against his will on those strong, bronze arms, for what felt like (and sometimes were) hours.

\---

As Merlin’s ribs and leg got better, Arthur began to take him around the house. The stairs were the worse but Merlin didn’t mind – after all, he would’ve given much more than a limb to be able to leave that room.

They didn’t talk much. At least, Merlin didn’t speak. Arthur usually kept up a stream of conversation: everything from recent books he had read to bits and pieces of his history.

Evidently he had stumbled across this plot of land, and a nearby bomb shelter equipped with decades worth of canned food, and the rest of history.

A couple times, even, Arthur had brought Merlin out while he attended the gardens surrounding the old house.

In a way, despite the social ineptitude and abuse, Merlin came to somewhat enjoy Arthur’s company.

Not for long, though.

\---

Merlin tried to run. His leg was well enough to limp on, and Arthur had gone to bed for the night. The house was quiet, and Merlin, no matter how much he pitied Arthur, could not stand another waking moment in the man’s control.

He picked the lock, feeling his body run cold with adrenaline as he scampered through the upper floor, heading for the stairs.

It was halfway down when Arthur opened his door. Startled, Merlin slipped, his grip on the railing failing, and tumbled down.

He landed in a painful heap at the bottom of the stairs.

The fall didn’t re-break his leg, but Arthur did.

\---

From that point forward, Merlin hated Arthur.

Arthur, who now more than even had become a possessive jailer, never letting Merlin out of the room, and always keeping him on some medication. It was a painkiller of some sort, crushed and dusted in Merlin’s food.

It made him drowsy, uncoordinated, high.

Merlin hated it, but could never stay lucid enough to put up a fight.

Arthur, worried for one reason or another, had begun cuddling Merlin at night – sleeping with his captive in his arms instead of in a separate room.

\---


	2. Claimed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graphic content ahead 
> 
> I don't feel like this chapter properly ends, but whatever. It's the end of the story either way. I just had to get this one out of my system.

Merlin was foggy, paying attention to little save the soft, afternoon breeze floating through the window nearby, when Arthur came in.

He had an unreadable look on his face when he came to sit next to Merlin, putting a heavy hand on Merlin’s own.

“You know I do this because I love you, Merlin.”

Merlin nodded, not really aware of what Arthur was saying, a goofy grin stretching his doped up lips. He had just eaten, and was on cloud nine.

“You belong to me. You know that right?” Arthur said, and he was closer to Merlin now, making the druid frown. Since when had Arthur gotten here?

Merlin frowned, and Arthur seemed to take that as enough of a sign, because suddenly his face was right in front of Merlin’s, his lips pressing painfully onto the druid’s.

Merlin tried to pull back then, his foggy brain clearing a bit as Arthur climbed on top of him – careful of the re-broken leg – easily caging him in.

“N – no…” Merlin tried to protest, his brain lagging painfully far behind, his hands moving up – sluggish and scarcely coordinated – to push uselessly against Arthur’s chest.

The man above him moaned, shoving his tongue into Merlin’s mouth. Merlin sobbed, trying to close his lips but becoming confused, too disoriented to expend the invading muscle.

Arthur pushed the covers down, baring Merlin – who was clad on in a t-shirt and boxers – to the chilled afternoon air.

At the realization of what Arthur was planning, Merlin began to push against his captor’s chest, just as useless as before. Arthur swallowed his protests, not seeming to care that Merlin wasn’t kissing him back, taking his pleasure from his captive.

Soon enough, Arthur began to touch Merlin, running an open palm up and down his chest, hiking up his shirt and viciously pinching at his nipples. Merlin was sobbing by now, trying to move his legs and finding himself too numb to do so.

Instead, all he could do was sit back and feel Arthur’s invasive hands on his body and tongue in his mouth, his cock growing stiffer and stiffer against Merlin’s upper thigh by the minute.

Soon enough Arthur was grinding on Merlin, humping his limp thigh like a dog.

“Ngh… You’re going to feel so good when I claim you,” Arthur hissed, finally stopping his assault on Merlin’s mouth and instead sitting back and – in one swift motion – ripping down his captive’s boxers.

Merlin tried to protest, his hands easily pushed aside as Arthur gazed hungrily at his soft member.

“All mine,” he breathed, for a moment just taking in Merlin’s drugged, wrecked form. Merlin whimpered, tears once again streaking down his face.  Arthur ignored it, instead sitting back and ripping off his own clothing.

Merlin sobbed when he caught sight, through his addled brain, of Arthur’s thick cock, standing proudly to attention and looking as though it would break Merlin.

He tried to protest, his mouth not really working properly, as Arthur roughly shove his legs apart and situated himself between them.

“No – no…” Merlin trailed off, once again trying to worm away from Arthur. It was useless, though. His captor merely put a firm hand on his chest, holding Merlin in place, while his other hand moved below the terrified man’s sack, revealing his virgin pucker.

“God, yes,” Arthur breathed out, quickly sucking a pair of fingers into his mouth in order to lubricate them.

Merlin whined again, squeezing his eyes shut as Arthur circled his asshole. Spreading spit on it.

Merlin screamed, then, the loudest sound he could manage, as Arthur roughly thrust his first finger – right up to the third knuckle – into Merlin’s virgin ass.

“Oh god – you're so fucking tight!” Arthur exclaimed from above him, groaning as he began to roughly move his finger around in Merlin’s asshole, bringing yelps and choked sobs from the man underneath him.

“Shh, love,” Arthur whispered, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s stomach as he roughly drew his finger out and instead _shoved_ two fingers in its place. Merlin whined, trying to push at Arthur only to have his wrists gathered in the strong man’s other hand.

“Hush, none of that now. I need to prepare you,” Arthur murmured, a bit crazed, roughly scissoring his fingers within Merlin’s hole, doing more harm than good.

Merlin sobbed harder, snot running from his nose, tears streaking down his face.

Arthur abruptly ripped his fingers out of Merlin’s ass, making the smaller man screech, and slapped him.

“Why the fuck are you crying? You’re mine, you should enjoy this,” Arthur gritted out, grabbing Merlin’s neck and pushing him into the bed. Merlin shook his head, terrified of the wild look that had steadily been growing in Arthur’s eyes.

“Fine, don’t enjoy it,” Arthur hissed, not taking his hand from Merlin’s throat even as he grabbed his hard prick and guided it towards Merlin’s scarcely loosened hole.

“Nn – no – AH!” Merlin screamed, screeching as Arthur shoved the tip of his dick into his abused ass.

“Shut. Up.” Arthur said, accentuating each word with a punch of a thrust into Merlin’s hole. The druid sobbed, feeling himself getting steadily ripped open. Faintly, something gave, and Merlin muddily recognized the excruciating pain in his asshole as that of something _tearing_. He sobbed helplessly, closing his eyes as Arthur seated himself wholly sheathed in Merlin’s unwanting flesh.

The man above him groaned.

“Mine.”

And then Arthur began to _fuck_ Merlin.

It was hard, brutal, like Arthur was trying to rip Merlin open and bury himself inside. Faintly, Merlin heard himself screaming, screeching with every bloody punch of Arthur’s prick into his torn passageway.

Arthur ignored it, instead panting and grunting and thrusting his way into Merlin’s body. The bed shook, headboard clanking against the wall, matching Merlin’s wails and screeches.

To the druid, it seemed to last forever.

Arthur was groaning, both hands moving to grip at Merlin’s shoulders and hold him in place. Merlin was far gone, too drugged and pained to fight anymore, his vision blurring as Arthur’s thrusting became less steady, picking up pace as the man above him came close to his release.

Merlin was pulled back to reality, screeching as he felt the burning pain of semen pumping into his ripped passages. Arthur groaned, shoving himself fully into Merlin one last time as he emptied himself into the helpless man below him.

Then he pulled out abruptly, making Merlin cry out one last time, blood and semen flowing from the druid’s abused asshole in his dick’s wake.

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard,” Arthur murmured, crazed and unreasonably pleased, forcing Merlin into a cuddling position.

Soon enough, the man next to him was asleep, snoring, leaving Merlin to his newly soiled virginity and heavy body – and the realization that he was, now, Arthur’s.

Merlin sobbed softly, crying himself to sleep, wishing that he had died in the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. If you didn't, well I'm sorry but you were warned. A lot. Thanks for reading, either way.


End file.
